Red, White, Blue Socks Part 2

"Where is your encampment to be?" said his mother, as gravely as she could.

"Oh, down on Mr. Schermerhorn's place at Astoria. Peter Schermerhorn told us to-day that his father was willing we should have it there, and has invited us all to come and stay a whole week. We're to live in _real tents_!" (here Freddy couldn't help cutting another caper,) "and cook our own dinners, and--oh, mother, mayn't I go? say!"

"I do not think of any objection at present," replied Mrs. Jourdain, "but you must wait until your father comes home, and hear what he has to say. It was very kind of Mr. Schermerhorn to invite you all, but I am afraid he will be driven distracted with such a number of harem-scarem boys running about his place."

At this moment Joseph, the black waiter, knocked at the door, and announced, with an air of high-flown elegance, that "Major Schermerhorn was in the _drawing salon_ (which he considered the purest Parisian French for front parlor), and desired to see Col. Jourdain;" and our young friend was off like a shot, Joseph following at a dignified pace.

Joseph, like most other colored servants in New York, was a person of the highest fashion, according to his own notions. No short words for _him_, I can tell you. I remember well the first time I called upon his mistress, I inquired, "Does Mrs. Jourdain live here?" and Joseph, drawing himself up with an air of superior refinement, replied, "Mrs.

Jourdain _resides_ here, madam." At dinner parties, when he waited upon table, he was the most dignified person present, and held his head up so high that he looked as if it would shortly go through the chandelier. He was always dressed in the finest broadcloth and patent leather, his black face and white necktie presenting an admirable contrast, while he used all the five cornered words in the dictionary in replying to any question, and always handed the dishes to the ladies with a flourish of the most astonishing character.

Now, if I tell you a secret, you must promise not to let any one know it. Freddy's parents live in the Fifth avenue above Madison Square, in the city of New York. His father is a rich man, and Freddy, a bright, manly lad, between thirteen and fourteen at the time I am writing about, and the only son, is a good deal indulged. But don't think he ever abuses the kindness of his loving papa and mamma; no--although he is full of noise, fun, and innocent mischief, he is a good, obedient little fellow--and that is why they love to do all they can to make him happy. But you must not tell that I said where he lives.

When Mr. Jourdain came home that evening, Freddy, of course, began to tell him the first thing, about the regiment and Mr. Schermerhorn's delightful invitation. You may be sure he gave a full-length description of the pleasures of camp life, as retailed by Peter to an enthusiastic audience at recess; and backed up his request to go by such powerful pleas of sparkling, eager eyes, flushed, happy face, and irresistible, dimpling smile, that the hardest-hearted papa in existence would have said "yes." Mr. Jourdain, being anything but hard-hearted, readily consented, as he was intimately acquainted with Mr. Schermerhorn and family, and knew there was no fear on a private place of their meeting with danger, or getting into trouble.

Then his father went on to ask a great many questions about the regiment, how many boys belonged to it, what their sizes were, and where they lived; all of which Freddy delightedly answered, and kept up a continuous chattering until a quarter past nine, which, being his bed time, he was reluctantly obliged to trot up stairs.

After he was fairly out of the room, his father and mother had a long consultation, which resulted next day in Mr. Jourdain's paying a visit to "Brooks Brothers," the tailors in Broadway, and afterward going to a certain store in Maiden Lane, which had all manner of toy knapsacks and guns in the window. What could he have gone there for, I wonder? and then betaken himself to the police station in B---- street? Really, it seems very mysterious, but wait a little, and you'll see.

Meanwhile Freddy, with his satchel hanging down his back to look as much like a knapsack as possible, marched off to school bright and early; whistling the "Star-spangled Banner" as he went along, and looking with the utmost pity upon strange boys, who hadn't the honor of belonging to his glorious regiment, the "Dashahed Zouaves," as his father had advised him to name it.

He reached Dr. Larned's academy just as Peter, Harry, and half a dozen others were going in. They greeted him directly with a shout of "Well, Fred, what does your father say?"

"Oh, I'm to go!" cried Freddy, "I say, fellows, what do you think of the Dashahed Zouaves for a name?"

"That's splendid! capital!" was the cry of the party. I am afraid I must add that Peter said "that's _gay_!"

There was no time to talk now, however, for it was full nine o'clock; so the boys, hanging up their hats in the hall, entered the school room, and prayers over, the lessons began.

But who could be very attentive to his _ante_-cedents, or _uncle_-cedents either, when, in three days, the _se_-cedents were to be utterly routed by the Dashahed Zouaves? The boys were so full of chuckle and bounce, that, I'm afraid, poor Dr. Larned would have become cracked and crazy, if he hadn't reflected that the holidays and Fourth of July, or, as Peter called it, "the Fourth of Ju-New Year's" were coming, and that probably the state of things was owing to those important facts.

The recitations on that memorable Friday, however, were something wonderful, sure enough. For instance, the lesson in geography was about China. The doctor asked a boy, "Where is Shanghai situated?" and he replied, "On Long Island, about two miles from Astoria landing!--that is," and there he stopped, looking as awkward and silly as a Shanghai chicken.

"Won't do, sir," said the doctor, in a grave tone, "you must study the lesson over again, and go down one;" and down he had to go, feeling rather flat.

Then the doctor asked Freddy what the princ.i.p.al manufactures were, and he answered, "Tea, porcelain, silk, and Zouave drill--no, no, the other kind of drill! dear me, what do I mean?"

"I cannot imagine," returned Doctor Larned, in a severe tone, but with a little bit of a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. "You appear to be thinking of anything but your lessons, young gentlemen--but as it is the last day of school, I excuse you. We will have recess earlier than usual, and see if we cannot do better afterward."

So saying, he opened the door leading from the school room to his private study, and went in; while the boys, luncheon in hand, ran to the playground.

"The playground," as it was called, was the large yard attached to the house, which had been fitted up with a few simple gymnastic contrivances, and formed a capital place where the boys might amuse themselves in fine weather. Down they sat, and for a few moments were so busy trying who could take the biggest semicircular bite out of a slice of bread and b.u.t.ter that n.o.body spoke a word. At last Freddy commenced, by calling out,

"I say, fellows!"

"Silence in the guard tent! the Colonel's going to speak!" cried Peter, making a new version of the old school saying.

"Don't you know all the real Zouaves have their hair cut as short as anything? and just look at mine!" and Freddy tossed back his silky, golden curls in high disgust.

"Fellows, _it must be done_! We must have that hair off, short order!"

continued the Colonel, solemnly.

"Well," exclaimed George Chadwick, who was the oldest of the party, and would certainly have been Colonel if Freddy had not been prime favorite with everybody, "Don't you see how we can manage that?"

"Why, how?" was the general question.

"Just you wait a moment," replied the inventor, and he put for the house in double quick time, whence he presently returned with an immense pair of scissors, which he had borrowed of the cook.

"Now, then, who'll be scissorized first?"

"I! I! I!" cried a chorus of voices.

"Can't do every one at once; come, Freddy, you're the commander-in-chief, suppose you set the example."

"Here goes, then!" exclaimed Freddy; and down he sat on the spring board.

Snip! went the long scissors, and off came a beautiful curl. Snap! more demolition on the other side, and in five minutes such a worn-out old scrubbing brush as his head looked like, never was seen anywhere, even on a Zouave; George, of course, running out his tongue so far at every snip of the scissors, that it was a mercy it didn't get cut off, too.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "FIRE AWAY OLD CHAP!"]

"Jolly! what a fright you look!" shouted Peter. "I say Freddy, I expect you'll scare General Beauregard into the cholera the first time he sees you. Now, then, it's my turn; fire away old chap!"

My conscience! what hair cutting that was! Some parts were scratched nearly bald, while in others, little bunches of hair were left standing up like stubble in an autumn cornfield. Their heads looked as if they had been gnawed by the mice or dug up in spots by the roots; and I am sure their own mammas would scarcely have known them again.

"Come, number three's turn now!" exclaimed George, flourishing his scissors.

"No, I don't know about that," put in Tom Pringle, who was the most thoughtful of the party, "I guess I'd rather see what my mother thinks before I have _my_ hair cut off."

This speech caused the rest of the regiment to think of something which hadn't struck them before, namely what _their_ mothers would say on the subject of Zouave hair dressing, and as George began to be a little frightened by this time, at the fearful and astonishing results of his patent plan, it was decided to defer the rest of the operation until another time.

But the amazement of Dr. Larned, when he beheld his pupils in such a condition, was beyond everything.

"Why, Peter! Freddy! what have you been doing?" he exclaimed, raising his hands, and pushing his spectacles to the top of his forehead, to look at them better.

"Oh, only getting our hair cut in the Zouave pattern," said Peter, as cool as a cuc.u.mber. "Don't you know, Doctor, that we've organized a regiment?"

"Organized a regiment!" repeated the doctor, his spectacles almost falling off with astonishment.

"Yes, sir, the Dashahed Zouaves; haven't you heard of them?"

"Is there any end to the mischief of boys?" exclaimed the doctor; "If such things had happened in my young days, our old master, Dr.

Birchemwell, would have verified his name even oftener than he did. I do not know what your mothers will say when they see such a couple of scarecrows; but come, we have wasted quite time enough; lessons!

lessons!"

And to the credit of the boys, be it said, they really did set to work like good fellows, recited the unlucky geography lesson without a single mistake, ciphered like perfect calculating machines, and had the pleasure of hearing Dr. Larned say, as they shook hands for good-bye, "Really, young gentlemen, you have done very well--very well, indeed; so now good-bye, and pleasant holidays!"